False
by A Hairy Burrito
Summary: A claimant to the empire rises, but those who rule are less than willing to release their grip over mankind. A tale of the War of the False Primarch, and the eighty bloody years that it spanned.


_Prologue_

"He asked me that once, you know," said the crimson-clad Astartes, pacing through the ruins of the once-majestic cathedral. Where tens of thousands of the God-Emperor's faithful once strode, uttering prayers regarding the sanctity of their souls within the sight of stern-faced cardinals and towering statues cast from gold, now only two figures now stood.

"Not a simple, idle question, asked for the mere purpose of filling a void in a conversation," he continued. "For a single word, this question held weight. Billions held their breath, waiting in anticipation for the response."

The other transhuman said nothing, chainsword held at a ready stance. The green visors that lay nestled within a helmet of black ceramite regarded him patiently. Why, the first Astartes could not tell. Not after all that had happened.

Perhaps it was simple courtesy and nothing more: one warrior waiting for the other to declare himself ready to die. Then again, it could be curiosity, a desire to know why so many had died, why so many sectors had burned at the command of the first Astartes. The basic motivation was understood. The reasons of the soul, however, remained unclear.

But at the end of it all, he mused silently as he stared the other Astartes in the eye, motivations matter for naught. Only actions mattered. Only legacies remained. And his would be a bloody one. A hateful one.

" 'How far would you be willing to go?' he demanded of me after I answered." The crimson Astartes continued. " 'In the interest of furthering the continuation of the Imperium, which lines would you cross? Would you break the oaths unto which you have sworn your very soul?' "

Silence. The gloom cast by the crumbling pillars, blood stains, and the other Astartes was oppressive, but still he pushed on.

"Do you know what I told him?" he said, continuing to pace, footfalls unnaturally loud when they landed upon the marble floor. "You should." The footfalls stopped as the first ceased his movement and turned to face the second fully. "Do you remember? I believe you do, even after all this time. After all, you were there, right beside me every step of the way."

Nothing. Then, "You told him," the other Astartes responded in a voice deep from neglect and cracking from disuse, "that oaths were not meant to be broken. That lines drawn were to never be crossed, lest we lose our very souls in the process. That honor was all."

The crimson Astartes smiled sadly beneath his helmet. "That honor was all," he murmured. "Forgive me, old friend. I seemed to have forgotten that."

The black-clad Astartes, adorned with symbols of penance, said nothing in response, remaining in ready stance. But there was something there unspoken. A slight softening in his posture, so minute that mortal eyes would have missed it.

The crimson Astartes saw it, and closed his eyes. "Do it," was all he said as he extended his arms, palms open.

The chainsword roared a mournful dirge before descending. Silence reigned once more over the ruined cathedral as the black-clad Astartes turned and walked away.

* * *

"Chapter Master," came a voice from behind him.

Within the confines of his helmet, Ariosto opened his eyes, turning to face the one who had interrupted his meditation. Enhanced eyesight fell upon the unhelmeted expression of his First Captain, quickly taking in the slight frown, the carefully-concealed worry buried within the other Astartes' brown eyes, and the hand that lingered slightly too closely to the hilt of his power sword to be casual.

"Cyrillus," he said in greeting, shifting his bulk to fully face the other man. "Is something wrong?"

"No," assured the other Astartes, his shoulders twitching slightly beneath his richly-bedecked pauldrons. Crimson war-plate, edged in gold and covered in battle honors, spoke of Cyrillus' long and storied history within the Howling Specters Chapter.

"No?" echoed Ariosto bemusedly. "I highly doubt that you came all the way down here," he gestured to the spartan room that currently housed the pair of them, "down in the Pits, personally, simply to tell me that there is nothing wrong going on."

Cyrillus' eyebrows furrowed slightly, as if struggling for words to adequately appease his superior, only to be frustrated by their absence. "Nothing yet," he amended after a moment's thought. "Though something most unusual just happened at the system's edge. I thought it best if I found you before any rumors did."

Ariosto's eyes narrowed. Even hidden behind a layer of ceramite, Cyrillus could detect the shift in the Chapter Master's mood, and stiffened slightly in response.

"Speak plainly Cyrillus. I suspect this is the absolutely last moment that I need you spouting riddles," he snapped.

Again the frustrated look. "Chapter Master," Cyrillus began a moment later, speaking carefully. "An Astartes strike cruiser translated into the edge of the system as of an hour ago. Since its translation from the Immaterium back into realspace, the ship has since done…" Hesitation. Ariosto leaned in closer towards the First Captain. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing, Ariosto. Its not moved in the slightest. From what our sensors array can tell, the cruiser is running at absolutely minimal power. Life support, artificial grav-generators, void shields, weapons…they just aren't there. Except in one small section, near the aft."

"What of their heraldry?" the Chapter Master demanded. "What colors do they sail under?"

"Unknown sir. They aren't anything we recognize, nor anything that matches up with anything we've been able to pull up from the fortress-monastery's databases."

Ariosto grunted annoyedly. Then a thought sprang to the forefront of his mind. "You said that there was a section with power?"

"Yes sir," nodded Cyrillus. "What we believe to be the comms deck, though given the age of the ship, we could be wrong in that assumption. Sir, if I might be frank, this strike cruiser variant is ancient. If I didn't know better, I'd say that it was Great Crusade period. Certainly no later than the Scouring."

Silence settled across the room at that. "Could it be a Chaos warband looking to prove itself?" Ariostos inquired. "A prelude to an invasion fleet?"

"It's possible," shrugged the other Astartes, though his body language was dismissive of the idea. "But the Librarians on station detected nothing in the way of Chaotic presence, nor any other signs that are characteristic of its foul taint."

"That does not preclude the possibility, First Captain," Ariosto retorted, even as he began to make his way past Cyrillus and out of the room. "But I will concede the point for now. Your personal thoughts?"

Cyrillus shrugged as he followed him, his pauldrons exaggerating the movement. "Most likely just another Astartes craft that was lost to the Warp during the Crusade. The crew has no doubt long since turned to dust."

"And the heraldry?" he pressed as the two of them began to ascend a flight of stairs that would take them to the main level of the fortress-monastery.

"Most likely a subdivision of one of the Legions, Chapter Master. Not all of them utilized their parent Legion's heraldry after all."

A Chapter serf was waiting for them as they crested the top of the staircase. A few scattered rays of light shone through the windows that dominated the hallway that they were entering, casting the man's cream robes as a vaguely gray color. Bowing deeply, he handed a data slate to Ariosto as the Chapter Master walked past him before retreating towards one of the windows that dominated the hallway.

"News?" Cyrillus inquired as he drew shoulder to shoulder with him.

"Nothing exciting," Ariosto confessed as a pair of neophytes ducked out of their path, eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Clearly the news had spread all across the fortress-monastery by this point. "The ship has continued to do nothing since its arrival. The orbital defense grid's commander says that he's maintaining high alert status regardless."

"Commander Metellus' attention to duty is as impeccable as ever, I see," commented Cyrillus.

"Indeed. And it would seem your theory is gaining more traction by the moment."

The pair came to a halt before a window that overlooked Trailos, the main hive of the world. Ariosto took a moment to gaze upon the sprawling mountain-city that dominated the landscape for kilometers around before saying, "Head up to the primary vox relay station Cyrillus. Tell Metellus to hold his fire for now. If the situation doesn't change within the next six Terra standard hours, then tell him to move to tertius alert status and have the cruiser boarded."

"Understood, Chapter Master," Cyrillus said, nodding his compliance. "I'll contact you should the situation change."

"See to it that you do," Ariosto said dismissively. Cyrillus nodded once more, before turning and walking away, leaving the Chapter Master alone with the sight of the hive and his thoughts.

* * *

_"Chapter Master," _came the voice of Cyrillus over the vox channel, pulling Ariosto out of his reverie.

"Report," he snapped, eyes flicking to the chronometer that blinked in the corner of his visor display. Two and three quarter hours had passed since Cyrillus had left him.

Something had clearly gone wrong.

_"There's a message sir, coming from the ship. I've redirected _Hammer of Sovalus _and _Unrelenting Will _away from their patrol patterns and placed them at a distance of fifty thousand kilometers away from the cruiser."_

"What message, First Captain?" Ariosto demanded.

There was a moment of static from Cyrillus' end of the channel before silence. Then, _" I await."_

Another brief burst of static before Cyrillus came back. _"That's all it's been saying on repeat sir. Perfect High Gothic, the tech-priests assure me, nothing modulated and no hint of a translator. Given the deepness of the voice, I'd wager it being transhuman."_

"I see," Ariosto replied without truly seeing. The message was too vague, too simplistic for there to be any real understanding. But it was definitely no distress call, given how it had only just begun playing and its contents, which meant that someone had to be still alive aboard the cruiser.

_"Your commands, my lord?" _came the voice of Cyrillus again, cutting through his musings.

"Send word to the _Unrelenting_ and _Hammer_'s Shipmasters_. _Have the _Hammer _ move to boarding range while the _Unrelenting _covers them. Best we investigate this ship personally."

_"Understood. Dispatching orders immediately."_

Ariosto turned away, peering once more out the window. "What secrets are you holding?" he murmured to himself.

* * *

_"What once was known about the War of the False Primarch has been largely forgotten, due either to suppression undertaken by the Inquisitorial servants of the God-Emperor or the passage of time. What little we allow ourselves to remember speaks of eight decades of bloody turmoil that engulfed the Segmentum Pacificus and ended with the destruction of eleven formerly loyally Astartes Chapters and dozens of Imperial Guard regiments. Even the records of the Holy Ordos are largely silent with regards to this affair, but what they do have to say hints at either a massive conspiracy by the Great Enemy or an odious truth that had the potential to rock the Imperium to its core. Perhaps it is for the best that whatever really happened remains buried, no matter the cost."_

_\- from the private musings of Lord Inquisitor Tenalus, M35_


End file.
